deck the halls
by AGENT Kuma-chan
Summary: Crowley wasn't sure how he ended up here, in a common suburban house, decorating it for Christmas. Aziraphale. It had to be Aziraphale's fault. -Crowley, Aziraphale, Adam, Anathema


**Title: **deck the halls

**Prompt:** Azir/Crowley, Anathema/Newt, Adam, Christmas eve, dinner party

**A/N:** For the Good Omens exchange for miraworos! I didn't get to put much Newt in here, but I hope you like the rest of it. I really like writing Crowley's voice.

**Summary:** _Crowley wasn't sure how he ended up here, in a common suburban house, decorating it for Christmas. Aziraphale. It had to be Aziraphale's fault._

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There were many things that Crowley expected to do on Christmas: tempt a few souls to the dark side, vandalize some displays, drink wine while looking down his nose at all the children squealing about a man breaking into their house. Hell, maybe, if he was feeling festive enough, he could dress up as that hulking behemoth and cause a little trouble.

Anything, really, to help a few kiddies get on the naughty list.

What he did not expect to do was stand on the staircase of a common suburban house, wrapping the rail in ribbon. Crowley frowned, staring at the red lace in his hand, and then down to the bottom of the staircase where Aziraphale was humming some inane Christmas song as he added pinecones to every flat surface he could find.

Even the tops of smoke detectors were not safe.

"Hey, angel, doesn't this feel, oh, I don't know, a little odd to you?" Crowley asked, fiddling with the edges of the ribbon. Maybe he should have brought this up earlier. Like the second they had entered the house and were handed a box of decorations and very detailed instructions on what to do. Or before that, when Aziraphale had brought up the suggestion. Well, no, considering how pleased Aziraphale had been when Crowley had agreed, there was no way he could have dashed his spirits then.

Aziraphale stopped humming, placing one last silver pinecone on a corner shelf. Wiping his hands in a satisfied manner, he went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at Crowley, a bemused expression on his face. "What is?"

"This? All of it?" Crowley gestured at the entire front foyer. A front foyer that they had decorated—the walls were covered in bows and bells, streamers were strung at the entrance way, and stars and mistletoe hung at random intervals. To be honest, this was probably why one shouldn't have both an angel and a demon decorate together—Aziraphale had always had a tacky taste in fashion and Crowley didn't know if his own refined palette could fix the issue.

Probably not. At least it was a charming fault to have.

"What, you don't like the decorations?" Aziraphale asked, his brow knitted. He scratched his cheek as he stared at the bows sadly. "I did want to make those bigger but the ribbons…they just weren't the right size."

"Of course I don't like the decorations, but that's besides the point." Crowley crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the ground. "It's Christmas."

"Yes, that's why we're here," Aziraphale replied, not quite following.

"Doesn't it seem just a little…wrong to you? A demon, celebrating Christmas? Or for either of us to be putting up decorations?" Crowley gestured vaguely above him. "Like, I don't know if anyone up there likes what happened to this whole 'son of god's birthday' thing, but down there—actually, wait, that we might be the reason this happened in the first place." He narrowed his eyes, trying to remember, but the centuries were long, packed full of mischief, and he had never really participated in any of North America's issues.

And North America was undoubtedly where this had to have started. Otherwise Crowley would have had a hand on this commercialization, it was such a big project they couldn't have ignored him.

"No, not really," Aziraphale replied brightly. "I mean, we're not exactly proper demons or angels, are we? Besides, it's good to catch up with everyone."

"Ok, but see, that's another issue with this." Crowley walked down the stairs and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale. Leaning close, he continued, "We were invited to this party, right?"

"Right," Aziraphale nodded, his expression serious.

"This is the witch's house. We're her guests." When it was clear Aziraphale didn't get it, Crowley sighed and spelled it out clearly for him. "Why are we decorating the house for her?"

Aziraphale sharply turned and stared him, like _he_ was the idiot. "Because she's busy cooking and setting up and we're being helpful."

"Again, demon. I'm not supposed to be helpful," Crowley replied, rolling his eyes. Maybe he should go to the kitchen instead and steal some food. Do some actual demon duties for once.

"Oh, come on, Crowley. Just help out a little, it'll be fun." Aziraphale smiled brightly, leaning closer and pecking him on the cheek. "Besides, you were a nanny for years, I'm sure you've done this before."

Crowley coughed, trying to hide the growing blush on his cheeks. Sometimes, this body was so inconvenient like that. He missed being cold-blooded. "Then why aren't you outside fixing the garden instead of letting that witch hunter do it? You were a gardener.""

"Well, I wasn't very good at it." Aziraphale sheepishly rubbed his neck, his skin turning a delectable shade of pink. "It took a few, ahem, _miracles_ to let me keep the job."

"You used miracles? For something like that?" And here Crowley thought he'd been wasteful. He'd been right all along, Aziraphale really ought to come over to the demon side. For neglect, if nothing else.

Whatever shoddy defense Aziraphale was going to come up with was cut off as Anathema poked her head into the foyer. "All done?" Without even waiting for a reply, she scanned the area and stopped at the bannister. "You didn't finish the railing."

"I am not going to," Crowley replied with a shrug.

"Right." She bit her lip as she studied him. Her brow furrowed and she turned to Aziraphale with a bright smile. "But you'll do it, right?"

"I would be honoured," Aziraphale beamed, already bouncing toward the stairs and the dangling ribbon. "How's the kitchen? All done?"

"…kinda." Anathema sighed wearily, her shoulders drooping. "I haven't really had much of a chance to, well, cook something this big you know. I never needed to. Adam's been lovely, helping me as much as he could—he and his friends brought recipes from their mums. Full credit to him but well, we'll see how it all ends up." She paused, glancing from one to the other. "You guys do eat, right?"

"We don't have to but I do quite enjoy eating." Aziraphale threaded the ribbon in and out of the rails, before taping it to the bottom. "It has evolved so much over the years."

"Tell me about it." Crowley grimaced, remembering some of the earlier 'delicacies'. Calling them food was an affront to food. "You can't just toss things on a fire and consider it done. I spent three decades ignoring it—you mastered alcohol far quicker than food."

"Right." Anathema pursed her lips, a strained smile on her face. "That's…interesting, I guess."

"What is?" Adam popped out behind her. One arm was wrapped around a bowl with bits of brown batter in it, the other held a spoon that he slowly licked.

"They're—wait, did you finish making the cookies before you ate that?" Anathema frowned. "And I'm not sure if you should eat that, isn't there a raw egg in it? Is that safe?"

"Safe enough." Adam shrugged. "Oh, and I think something's burning."

Anathema paled. Now that Adam had mentioned it, Crowley could see a faint plume of black escaping the kitchen. She turned on her heel and dashed back to the kitchen, fast enough to give even an Olympic sprinter competition. "SHIT!"

"You couldn't have stopped that?" Crowley asked, turning back to Adam. His ex-charge? His boss's ex-son? While it was great that they'd changed reality and all that, it really made it hard to keep track of relationships.

"It was brussel sprouts." Adam scowled, looking extremely disgusted. "I did us a favour."

"Did you?" Aziraphale twiddled his fingers, looking a little put down. "I like brussel sprouts."

"That's cause you're an angel. Only reason," Adam snorted derisively. He scooped up another spoonful of batter but stopped short of eating it. "Oh, that reminds me—so, you know how Christmas is Jesus's birthday?"

"Yeah, yeah," Crowley gestured for him to continue, tired of the subject.

"Well, I was the son of Satan. How come my birthday's not a holiday?" Adam asked grumpily.

"Well…" Aziraphale swallowed, running a hand through his curly mop of hair. "That's…uh, well you see, your birthday would have caused the end of the world, and there can't really be holidays after that, and you're no longer _his_ son…and…well…"

Adam continued to stare at him, slowly eating his batter. "And?"

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. "And?" he asked desperately.

Crowley walked over, wrapped an arm around Adam's shoulders, and smiled. "And that is a marvelous idea."

Aziraphale realized his mistake too late. "No."

"We should go pitch it, make a real go at it. Satan's son's birthday—we need a catchy name, something to compete with this whole Christmas thing," Crowley continued, ignoring Aziraphale's protests.

"Oh." Adam lit up. "I like the sound of that."


End file.
